


Unimaginable

by in_motu_proprio



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Death, Dark!Fic!, Friendship, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_motu_proprio/pseuds/in_motu_proprio
Summary: Clint is working through the unimaginable, he's lost everyone in The Snap.  Well, that's what he thinks until Natasha walks in to find him at his lowest.TW: Suicide, Character Death





	Unimaginable

“I know you’re there.” 

Natasha let out her breath and stepped into the light. “Must be loosing my touch,” she said softly as she came a pace closer. Clint was seated at the piano, empty Jack Daniels bottles around the pedals and bench. “You didn’t pick up.” 

“You shouldn’t have come.” Natasha could feel the gloom rolling off of Clint, hell the whole house resonated with it. She’d feared the worst when he hadn’t picked up, but Natasha came to see for herself. Just in case. Just because maybe… just maybe … the worst possible thing in the world could have happened. “I’m not leaving.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Natasha said as she slipped a step closer. She’d spotted the gun on the top of the piano when she saw him through the window on her approach. While everyone was trying to figure out which was was up in Wakanda, she’d needed to know for sure. With her own eyes. “Can I get a drink? It’s thirsty work finding a way here from Wakanda.” 

Clint’s hand went up, indicating that she should stay where she was. “Go, Natasha. Please.” 

“I don’t think I’m going to do that,” she told him as she moved to the sofa. She very nearly sat, but stopped a moment before, seeing a small line of dust seemingly sprinkled across two cushions. “Clint,” she asked quietly. “… Clint,” he glanced at her, then at the couch, eyes closing tightly before putting his back to it. 

“This is the only place in the house I can sit and not see,” Clint told her softly. “Everywhere I turn… but here I can…” his fingertips ran over the top of a silver frame with a family photo, then another of Laura alone. Natasha moved away from the couch, pretending to forget he’d told her to stay put. “Lila’s there,” Clint said with a nod to the couch. “Cooper was outside when… “ Clint’s voice broke and Natasha was trying to decide how she was going to get that gun out of his reach as quickly as possible. “I didn’t even see him go. Just… “ Clint’s shoulders sunk and he collapsed forward over the keys making a horrible sound. She noticed that there were items placed on the piano with the photos. She spotted a couple of Cooper’s books straight off, one of them mangled beyond belief, his favorite copy of Captain Underpants if she wasn’t mistaken. Clint’s hand went to it, touching the top gingerly. 

“Clint, can we go sit outside? Maybe on the swing?”

“No.” It was quiet, firm. “Tasha… please,” Clint turned his head to look at her, “just go. Please.” Looking at him, she was pretty sure he hadn’t slept since The Snap. It had taken her four days to get here. 

“I should have come right away.” 

“And what… help me bury my dead? There’s nothing to bury,” Clint’s fist came down hard on the top of the piano, making the picture frames jump, one falling over onto a soft stuffed dog that she recognized from pretty much every picture taken of Nate. 

“… Clint, I have to ask. Nate? Laura?” 

“Nate’s in his crib,” Clint told her with a look that said he wasn’t napping. “And Laura… L…” 

Clint completely broke down at that point and Natasha managed to get close enough to wrap her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Clint,” she said over and over, her own tears falling as he explained between sobs that he and Laura had been kissing in the kitchen when it happened. Natasha couldn’t even fathom what that must have been like. Clint was shaking like a leaf against her, sobbing like a child does, without giving a good God damn who had a thought in their head about how he looks or was behaving. Clint was a raw nerve right now so she just stood there and held him. It took ages but eventually Clint’s sobs slowed and evened out. She’d long since unloaded the gun and pocketed the bullets and firing pin, though she was going to suggest a shower or a pat down simply so she could be sure he wasn’t packing anything else. She would not put it past Clint to be armed to the teeth right now. She was. 

“Think you can stand up for me?” It was a lot of Natasha actually supporting Clint as they walked to the front door, having to pass Lila as they went. Clint went mostly mute then, letting Natasha pretty much mold him for the next hour or so. She put him on the swing and sat with him, a blanket around both of them as they got a touch of fresh air. She sat with him a good ten minutes before speaking. “Do you have any other weapons on you, Clint?”

“… just the 9 mil on the piano,” he told her. 

“I believe you, Clint. But can I verify that?” He said nothing as her hands moved over him, checking that he didn’t have anything else. She found nothing. “Thank you.” Then they sat for awhile more, Natasha having taken Clint’s hand in her own to hold as they rocked. Clint just stared out into the fields, not focused on anything as he no doubt relieved sheer hell in his mind’s eye. “I’d like to make us some tea.” Clint just nodded. Natasha tucked the blanket in around him then went to the kitchen. When she was well out of his sight, Natasha started shaking. She managed to stave off the tears until she moved to fill the kettle. There sitting on the lip of the sink, was Laura’s wedding ring. She’d been avoiding looking at the pile of ash on the ground near the back door, but once she looked it was all she could see, more specifically the frantic sort of scattering around the edges and the very clear outline of Clint’s handprints in the middle. Laura had been good to her; she and Clint had welcomed her into their home early on when she was still recovering from the Red Room. 

Quietly reminding herself that Clint was outside, Natasha filled the kettle and put it on the stove. While she waited for that she took the chance that Clint hadn’t eaten in at least four days and pulled out makings for a sandwich. It came together quickly, nothing fancy, but within ten minutes, she was out on the porch with him again. “I’m not hungry.”

“The sandwich is for me,” she lied as she set it down on the swing between them. “Here.” She handed off the steaming cup of tea that was heavy on cream, sugar, and a calming extract she’d added. Clint drank robotically, looking out on the fields. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice what she’d done, but even if she did she figured he’d understand. “For what it matters, I’m sorry Clint.” He just inclined his head and gripped his mug a little tighter. He was cool to the touch but that he was seeking warmth was good. Even if it wasn’t a positive thing, she was going to read it as such because she was struggling. “What can I do?”

“You can give me back my firing pin,” Clint told her with a glance to the side, “and you can leave.” His eyes pleaded with her to go, clearly no less suicidal than when she’d walked in the house. “I mean it, Nat. I’m done.” It was so soft, so firm, and his hand came to close over hers as he spoke. “They were why I kept getting out of bed in the first place. We both know I’m way past my sell by date, so…”

“NO.” It was harsh, her fingers squeezing his. “I do not accept that premise, damnit.” 

“They were.” 

“No… that part I know. I mean that you are past your sell by date. Clint, you’re not.” She turned her hand over in his, pressing their palms together. “And I hope that at least one reason to get out of bed made it through…” Natasha held Clint’s eyes, seeing that his pupils were going even bigger. “Please let me help you.” 

Clint groaned and took his hand back, finishing up the last of his tea. “I told you how you can help me, Natasha. Give me back my firing pin and leave or just leave.” He headed toward the stairs down to the yard, presumably toward the barn where he kept a cache of weapons. That was not where she wanted him. At least not until she could clean out the barn. 

“Clint, please.” Natasha followed him, seeing that he was unsteady at the absolute best, positively stumbling at the worst. “Clint!” She caught up to him when he hit his knees about fifty yards out. Then she started to run, terror rippling through her entire body. When she got to him, he was sitting back on his heels, hands flat on his thighs. 

“How much did you give me?” He clearly knew that he’d been dosed, though probably not what with. 

“Not that much,” Natasha told him. She’d resorted to dosing his beverage a time or two to get him to sleep during the worst of his post-Loki PTSD just to break the cycle. The first time it was without his permission and had resulted in him being furious but eventually giving her permission to use her best judgement should the need arise. He’d also explicitly said that he’d rescind that permission whenever the hell he wanted. But he hadn’t yet thank goodness. “Can you get to your feet?” 

“Mmmmmaybe,” Clint worked his way up, leaning heavily on Natasha as they made their way to the barn. It was a hell of a lot closer and also didn’t have the hell the house contained. Natasha got him down on the backseat of an old car Clint sometimes took power naps on while he was working out here. “Sleep isn’t going to change my mind.” 

“Maybe not.” Natasha ran her fingers through his hair, “but at the very least it bought me a couple of hours more with you so it’s worth it, Barton. Now shut up and go to sleep.” It sounded harsh but was delivered with a loving, oft-used tone when it came to Clint. “I love you and I’m telling you that you need to sleep.” 

“I’m still mad at you,” Clint told her while reaching out to pull on her arm. He got her to sit on the end of the bench seat and let him rest his head in her lap. Natasha had planned on going to the house to strip it of any other weapons, which was probably the reason Clint was keeping her there. It was fine, she didn’t mind. She’d still find a way to keep him from hurting himself. She loved him. It wasn’t as though the alternative was even fathomable. No, it like all of this was utterly unimaginable until you were going through it then it was oh so easy to imagine, to feel every horrible thing her best friend and partner was going through. Clint settled in, grumbling something about bossy redheads as he wrapped both arms around her waist and buried his face in her stomach. Natasha didn’t know what would happen when Clint woke up, all she knew was that she’d done her best because that’s what he deserved.


End file.
